the friendly road(友好的路)-第33章
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the roadway; I said:
〃Stranger; let's sit down and have a bite of luncheon。〃
He began to expostulate; said he was expected in Kilburn。
〃Oh; I've plenty for two;〃 I said; 〃and I can say; at least; that I am a
firm believer in cooperation。
Without more urging he followed me into the woods; where we sat
down comfortably under a tree。
Now; when I take a fine thick sandwich out of my bag; I always feel
like making it a polite bow; and before I bite into a big brown doughnut; I
am tempted to say; 〃By your leave; madam;〃 and as for MINCE PIE
Beau Brummel himself could not outdo me in respectful consideration。
But Bill Hahn neither saw; nor smelled; nor; I think; tasted Mrs。 Ransome's
cookery。 As soon as we sat down he began talking。 From time to time he
would reach out for another sandwich or doughnut or pickle (without
knowing in the least which he was getting); and when that was gone some
reflex impulse caused him to reach out for some more。 When the last
crumb of our lunch had disappeared Bill Hahn still reached out。 His hand
groped absently about; and coming in contact with no more doughnuts or
pickles he withdrew itand did not know; I think; that the meal was
finished。 (Confidentially; I have speculated on what might have happened
if the supply had been unlimited!)
But that was Bill Hahn。 Once started on his talk; he never thought of
food or clothing or shelter; but his eyes glowed; his face lighted up with a
strange effulgence; and he quite lost himself upon the tide of his own
oratory。 I saw him afterward by a flare…light at the centre of a great crowd
of men and womenbut that is getting ahead of my story。
His talk bristled with such words as 〃capitalism;〃 〃proletariat;〃 〃class…
consciousness〃and he spoke with fluency of 〃economic determinism〃
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and 〃syndicalism。〃 It was quite wonderful! And from time to time; he
would bring in a smashing quotation from Aristotle; Napoleon; Karl Marx;
or Eugene V。 Debs; giving them all equal value; and he cited statistics!oh;
marvellous statistics; that never were on sea or land。
Once he was so swept away by his own eloquence that he sprang to his
feet and; raising one hand high above his head (quite unconscious that he
was holding up a dill pickle); he worked through one of his most thrilling
periods。
Yes; I laughed; and yet there was so brave a simplicity about this odd;
absurd little man that what I laughed at was only his outward appearance
(and that he himself had no care for); and all the time I felt a growing
respect and admiration for him。 He was not only sincere; but he was
genuinely simplea much higher virtue; as Fenelon says。 For while
sincere people do not aim at appearing anything but what they are; they
are always in fear of passing for something they are not。 They are forever
thinking about themselves; weighing all their words and thoughts and
dwelling upon what they have done; in the fear of having done too much
or too little; whereas simplicity; as Fenelon says; is an uprightness of soul
which has ceased wholly to dwell upon itself or its actions。 Thus there are
plenty of sincere folk in the world but few who are simple。
Well; the longer he talked; the less interested I was in what he said and
the more fascinated I became in what he was。 I felt a wistful interest in
him: and I wanted to know what way he took to purge himself of himself。
I think if I had been in that group nineteen hundred years ago; which
surrounded the beggar who was born blind; but whose anointed eyes now
looked out upon glories of the world; I should have been among the
questioners:
〃What did he to thee? How opened he thine eyes?〃
I tried ineffectually several times to break the swift current of his
oratory and finally succeeded (when he paused a moment to finish off a bit
of pie crust)。
〃You must have seen some hard experiences in your life;〃 I said。
〃That I have;〃 responded Bill Hahn; 〃the capitalistic system〃
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〃Did you ever work in the mills yourself?〃 I interrupted hastily。
〃Boy and man;〃 said Bill Hahn; 〃I worked in that hell for thirty…two
yearsThe class…conscious proletariat have only to exert themselves〃
〃And your wife; did she work tooand your sons and daughters?〃
A spasm of pain crossed his face。
〃My daughter?〃 he said。 〃They killed her in the mills。〃
It was appallingthe dead level of the tone in which he uttered those
wordsthe monotone of an emotion long ago burned out; and yet leaving
frightful scars。
〃My friend!〃 I exclaimed; and I could not help laying my hand on his
arm。
I had the feeling I often have with troubled childrenan indescribable
pity that they have had to pass through the valley of the shadow; and I not
there to take them by the hand。
〃And was thisyour daughterwhat brought you to your present
belief?〃
〃No;〃 said he; 〃oh; no。 I was a Socialist; as you might say; from youth
up。 That is; I called myself a Socialist; but; comrade; I've learned this here
truth: that it ain't of so much importance that you possess a belief; as that
the belief possess you。 Do you understand?〃
〃I think;〃 said I; 〃that I understand。〃
Well; he told me his story; mostly in a curious; dull; detached wayas
though he were speaking of some third person in whom he felt only a
brotherly interest; but from time to time some incident or observation
would flame up out of the narrative; like the opening of the door of a
molten pitso that the glare hurt one!and then the story would die back
again into quiet narrative。
Like most working people he had never lived in the twentieth century
at all。 He was still in the feudal age; and his whole life had been a blind
and ceaseless struggle for the bare necessaries of life; broken from time to
time by fierce irregular wars called strikes。 He had never known anything
of a real self…governing commonwealth; and such progress as he and his
kind had made was never the result of their citizenship; of their powers as
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voters; but grew out of the explosive and ragged upheavals; of their own
half…organized societies and unions。
It was against the 〃black people〃 he said; that he was first on strike
back in the early nineties。 He told me all about it; how he had been
working in the mills pretty comfortablyhe was young and strong then;
with a fine growing family and a small home of his own。
〃It was as pretty a place as you would want to see;〃 he said; 〃we grew
cabbages and onions and turnipseverything grew fine!in the garden
behind the house。〃
And then the 〃black people〃 began to come in; little by little at first;
and then by the carload。 By the 〃black people〃 he meant the people from
Southern Europe; he called them 〃hordes〃〃hordes and hordes of 'em〃
Italians mostly; and they began getting into the mills and underbidding for
the jobs; so that wages slowly went down and at the same time the